Cake
by Scordatura
Summary: Some find it to be an excellent side dish when the main course is revenge.


A/N: And a happy birthday to AutumnMobile12!

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_Cake_

A lone individual peers up into the sky over the city of Ikebukuro and he can't help but smile at the familiar sights around him. Civilians hustle back and forth on the crosswalks, conversation swirls all around him, and even the moan of the traffic is pleasant to his ears. He's glad to be back and wonders what he'll do first when his smile and peaceful thoughts are abruptly ripped from him, and honestly, his mind goes blank for a few moments.

Fifteen minutes later, he finds himself in a familiar situation. He's seated across from the toughest guy in 'Bukuro in one of the cafés the man has brought him to a few times before. It's a nice gesture, but he's still insisting that an apology of cake isn't necessary. So what if that one thug Shizuo had planted his fist in had been thrown a little too far and had knocked down one innocent bystander like a spare bowling pin? He was still alive, and he'd already received Shizuo's semi-concerned look and a quick apology, followed by, 'Oh, hey, Miyoshi. I didn't know you were in town.'

Indeed Miyoshi has returned to Ikebukuro, and despite being flattened across the pavement like a wad of gum, he can still admit it's good to be back.

A waiter sets a dish of some sugary delight before the teenager and then turns to give Shizuo his order, an action he should have gone about doing with his eyes closed. Upon seeing the familiar, dark glasses and bartender get-up, the waiter feels a chill run through him, and he's suddenly standing at Death's feet, prepared to be punted.

By now, Shizuo has narrowed his eyes at the suddenly frozen individual, and he bears his teeth in a snarl, demanding to know why the hell the guy's still standing there. This brings the waiter back to the world of the living (which isn't a real improvement from Death's doorstep), and he releases Shizuo's tall glass filled with milk pudding and chocolate. The waiter doesn't begin to breath until he's retreated to the safety of the kitchen; his colleagues briefly wonder what has caused the panic attack they see before them.

Back at the table near the front window, Shizuo is stirring the cold dessert he's been given, muttering about their waiter's odd behavior. He doesn't consider himself to be that scary of a guy, yet the atmosphere turns tundra when he's within a mile of civilization. He asks Miyoshi how he believes walking into a pet shop would work out. After all, folks come out of those types of places all the time with bright smiles on their faces.

Miyoshi has an image of snarling kittens, frightened puppies, and fish sucking in air to die, but he keeps this mental picture to himself. Instead, he simply shrugs and suggests the man try it some day. It doesn't occur to him until he's wincing from a brain freeze that he may have sent tanks of fish to their dooms.

They have a normal conversation for a little while, whatever normal is for a man with super human strength and a sixteen-year-old waist deep in the peculiarities of Ikebukuro. A mundane conversation usually revolves around the weather or something to do with money, whether it's beneficial cash or payment one regrets giving up. A conversation between Shizuo and Miyoshi doesn't begin this way, but rather with a certain black rider known all around Ikebukuro. They talk about Celty, and then Shinra, which leads Shizuo to begin seething about some punk he'd beaten up the week before that had later gone to the doctor for treatment. Miyoshi doesn't inquire about the victim, simply scrapes the frosting from the top of his strawberry cake and bites the end of his fork thoughtfully.

The next moment is a complete and utter blur. One second, Miyoshi's fork is floating above his cake, prepared to stab a bite, and the next, the entire slice is gone. Shizuo, however, is now facing away from the table and has his right arm outstretched, fingers splayed apart like he's just launched something into next Tuesday.

Miyoshi, once he's realized his fork has met bare plate, turns and follows Shizuo's extended arm, eyes traveling towards the window where—

–Mm. There's his cake. Quite the lovely display of cream and red fruit plastered all over the front window.

Miyoshi is about to inquire, why, pray tell, did Shizuo send his dessert speeding across the café when he glimpses a sliver of black around the mess dripping sadly down the glass. Outside the shop window, peering around a splatter of cream, is Izaya Orihara. He has a look on his face that Miyoshi can't say he's ever seen before, yet he doesn't want to immediately write it up as fear. It's more like one second of shock, followed by one point five seconds of bewilderment before the info broker's countenance returns to its default state of smug and collected.

The dark-haired man eyes the ruined cake and then those within the shop, sending a taunting wave in Shizuo's direction. He smirks at Miyoshi when he sees him across from 'Bukuro's wrath, but it doesn't last long, for soon his smile drops and he narrows his eyes.

Miyoshi is leaning forward in his seat, arms gripping his stomach as though trying to fend off a nasty bout of food poisoning. His forehead is against the table and he's trembling, almost unnoticeable shudders at first but they soon grow into violent shakes.

Shizuo turns away from The Flea, a rare action he tries to avoid as many times as possible, but Miyoshi's shivering as though he's been punched in the gut, and the strongest man in Ikebukuro is suddenly worried he's done something again. He'd made sure it'd been a straight throw, and the obliterated dessert blocking The Flea's stupid face indicated as much.

Shizuo raises a hand, about to inquire if Miyoshi's been hurt in any way, when the teenager raises his head and releases a sudden burst of laughter.

The other civilians in the café are silent and staring wide-eyed, as they have been through this whole ordeal, and outside, Izaya takes a step away from the window, closing his eyes and exhaling shortly. So he'd only been laughing... Quite a letdown.

Inside the café, Miyoshi is still stuck in the humor of it all, tilting back in his seat and trying to piece together in his mind why the entire situation is just too funny. Had it been the sudden projectile being shot through the air, or the the fact that Izaya Orihara had been startled for just the briefest of moments?

As Miyoshi tries smothering his outburst with a tight grin, he tells himself it's a mix of the two along with the bewildered look Shizuo is giving him right now. The sixteen-year-old waves a hand, apologizing quietly and doesn't mention his lost cake, or even questions why Shizuo didn't spare some of his own food for the attack. After all, Izaya appears to have disappeared, and Shizuo no longer seems to be on the front lines prepared for everything and equipped with forks, saucers, and tea cups. Instead, the toughest man in 'Bukuro is shaking his head in exasperation, but Miyoshi catches a bemused smirk.

It truly is good to be back in Ikebukuro and he'll embrace the welcome party he receives even if it includes flying vending machines, thugs, cake, or all of the above. It's just what he'd expect from the never dull city.

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A/N: So that was my first Durarara fic. Hope I did an okay job and I hope you liked it. :)


End file.
